


A Drinking Song

by trademarksatanist



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, Poverty, Revolution, Rich Boys, Robbery, Trains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trademarksatanist/pseuds/trademarksatanist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire just needs to steal enough money to pay rent and eat for the next two days, that's all. Just enough to keep him going.</p><p>Then he gets caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rent

**Author's Note:**

> "You have to be always drunk. That's all there is to it—it's the only way. So as not to feel the horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the earth, you have to be continually drunk.
> 
> But on what? Wine, poetry or virtue, as you wish. But be drunk."
> 
> -Charles Baudelaire

 

Grantaire is careful to not breathe as he bumps into the business man in line for the second time and slides the wallet back into the pocket of his three-piece suit, the fabric rough under his hands. He only got two twenty dollar bills from that guy, leaving the final twenty in case he needed to catch a train or something. Grantaire is never cruel, and he is experienced enough to get the goods from more than one person. He just needs to pay his rent for the month.

He slides away from his target and back into the throng of people. It moves like one entity, swarming against the corners of the train station and flowing back like the tide rushing in. Grantaire navigates it with ease. It's a second nature now, he's a wolf in sheep's clothing, and all the sheep are idiots.

He finally spots Eponine sitting outside the McDonald's on the first floor. She is better at navigating the crowd than him, she was the one that eventually taught him. It could just be a natural talent that she has, or it could be the over a decade of practice. She doesn't become a part of the crowd, she becomes the entire crowd. She somehow manages to look exactly like everyone else in the mall. Her hair goes past her shoulders, but the shaved portion above her left ear screams college student. With a flip of her head, however, she turns into a teenager looking over nail polish and extensions. A hat, some ace bandages, and she's a boy. With some clothes she can look thirty, with others, fifteen. Governments of the world would scramble for the chance to hire her if they could, but she spends most of her time running from them instead.

Eponine buys two burgers with some singles she stole from an old bald man. They sit by the corner of the city-bound train and the traveler’s bookstore and lean against the filthy walls.. It smells like trash, but for that reason the police are never there, so it has always been their home away from home.

“Get anything good today?” Eponine says and picks at her nail polish.

“Should be able to get the rent at least, maybe the heat if there's a good rush this evening.” Grantaire mutters and takes another bite of his burger.

“We can get the rent, I got some cash from Montparnasse last week. We're covered.” He groans and runs a hand through his hair, turning to face Eponine.

“Come on, 'Ponine, that guy's a major dickface to you.”

“He's a dickface with some nice cash, though.” Eponine grins and leans against the wall, crossing her legs and smoothing out her green sundress.

“You don't even know where he gets it.”

“Since when has that mattered?” He lets the topic drop, only because Eponine is stubborn as an ox and he hasn't had enough sleep to argue with her.

“What platform are you hitting today?” He says after a while. She bites her lip, and then shrugs.

“I'll get the subways, if you get the upstate rush.” Grantaire nods solemnly and pushes against the wall to stand. He crumbles his wrapper into a tight ball and throws it into the garbage. Eponine claps her hands.

“Ten out of ten. Now help me up.” She says sarcastically. He grins and takes the offered hands with no complaint, dragging her upwards until she has her feet. They part quickly, with a sideways hug around the shoulders. Anyone watching them would think they were coworkers at best, and in a way they are, but they would be late to the evening rush if they didn't hurry.

 

Grantaire slips two wallets clean out of their owners' pockets with no difficult, easy as breathing.

When he spots another clean suit and tie, he doesn't even register the face, he slips up behind him and dips his hand into his left pocket, nothing. He waits for the crowd to swarm forward again and tried the right, also nothing. He sighs and turns away, only to be grabbed by the arm and shoved violently against the nearest wall. He is faced immediately by a very angry, breathtakingly attractive blond man. The crowd forgets about them and goes on its way.

“Looking for something?” The positively _angelic_ man growls.

“Your number?” Grantaire gasps and he is shoved into the wall again, his ribs complaining in twenty different languages. This man looks like pure fury, and dear god if it isn't scarily attractive. Grantaire figures he could pull up a multitude of different sob stories, and all would sound just as fake as his actual story, but he might as well try.

“Listen, man-”

“Save it.” He barks and Grantaire freezes. The stranger loosens his hold on him, but before he can make a break for it the man has a hold of his hand and a piece of soft paper is pressed into his palm. His skin is rough against his own. Grantaire looks down, and Benjamin Franklin is smiling up at him. He gapes at it and then tries to give back to the man. “Are you trying to tell me that you were picking pockets for something other than absolute necessity?”

“I don't need any charity” He gets a laugh at that, but its harsh.

“So you're stealing for fun! Good let's just go see the proper officials then.” The man says sarcastically. Grantaire shakes his head furiously, wary of this weirdo's actions, and stops trying to offer the money back. The man drops his hand from grasping at Grantaire's jacket, but he does not run. “Listen, I have a train to catch. But I got a nice good look at your face, and trust me if I get anymore people trying to pick my pockets, I’m going to find everyone responsible, including yourself, so don't go around telling your girlfriend about me, got it?”

Grantaire nods, and slips the hundred dollar bill into his pocket. The man takes a deep breath. And pulls a small card out of his pocket, handing it to Grantaire.

“If you need anything, call this number and we can hook you up with something, ask for Enjolras, okay? Don't rob anyone, there are other ways. The officers here know that they are being hit over and over again, and it's only a matter of time before they catch you. Got it?” Grantaire nods once again, breathless. The blond, Enjolras, purses his lips in reply and falls back into the mob of sheep. Grantaire swallows and visibly straightens to catch a glimpse of the curly-haired man as he disappears, but he is already gone. He takes his first breath in what feels like years, and immediately makes his way to his subway back home.

It's only two stops and a 10 minute walk away, but it feels like eternity. The pavement beneath his feet punches him every time his feet hit the ground, and the setting sun is just some brat with a magnifying glass trying to burn him. If he's being honest with himself he feels like shit.

When he gets to his apartment it's already dark out. He knows from experience that Eponine will not be home until the crack of dawn, so he doesn't bother telling her that the rent is sorted. Instead he slips the money under the door of the landlord, carefully labeled in an envelope and sealed as tightly as a vault. Then he goes to bed.

But he doesn't sleep for hours.

Instead he thinks and thinks about that man - _Enjolras, weird name –_ and what possible ulterior motive he could have. Maybe he stole the money himself. Maybe he is a pimp or a drug dealer and just likes looking upper middle class. Maybe he was just craving some good karma.

He probably just didn’t have the time to report him. He did say he had a train to catch.

Grantaire was just lucky. That man was rich and thought that he was too unimportant to miss a train over. Maybe he's a millionaire or something. Like Bill Gates, he was just dropping a hundred dollar bill and he makes more money not picking it up. Grantaire is just the equivalent of the ground.

His memory of the man is considerably soured once he thinks of this.

He decides not to call the number, he has food enough for the next two days and enough money left to pay half of the heating bill. He's not drowning for the first time in months.

So why does he still feel like shit?

He rolls out of bed and kneels next to his bed. He reaches under and blindly grasps around for the various bottles he keeps hidden from Eponine. He pulls out a half-empty bottle of whiskey and brings it to bed with him. It tastes like fire.

When he wakes up at three in the afternoon the next day, the bottle is empty.

 

 


	2. The Ex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is nothing ever as easy as it should be?

 

The card occupies the dark corner of his left coat pocket from then on. He doesn't look at it, and avoids it whenever his hands seek refuge from the cold outside. He prevents himself from thinking of that strange man, and he lets Eponine do the upstate rush while he gets the subways.

When Eponine asks him, he replies that he's fine. But it's in a slurred, drunken voice at three in the morning and there is no way in hell that she believes him.

It doesn't take him long to spend all of the cash he worked so hard to save up, and he falls back into the pattern of pick-pocketing with a natural grace. It's almost a relief, not having to worry about other people sorting him into little boxes of who needs help and choosing the most pitiable. He doesn't depend on other people, he depends on himself and his own skill.

He figures its better to keep it that way.

Maybe his eyes do skim over the classifieds section of the New York Times with a little bit more focus than he normally would, but he does not make an attempt to call any numbers. In his experience, hunting for a job in New York is an uphill battle against Godzilla and King Kong’s ungodly lovechild that can shoot lasers from its eyes.

And it's definitely not worth the time.

Eponine shows up early on Tuesday with a new leather jacket and some shoes that would look more fitting on supermodel. Her hair is done back in a french braid to accentuate the shaved portion. When they hug, Grantaire smells roses.

“Jesus, 'Ponine, what did all this cost?” He says, she grins.

“Five fingers and a bit of luck.” He laughs nervously as they sit down at their usual place near the bookstore. She leans against his shoulder, and he lets her.

“How are things with Montparnasse?” He says into her hair. She shrugs.

“What's the use in leaving him? Marius has the hots for some other chick, and 'Nasse has some money. He's not that bad.”

“Doesn't mean he's good.” She snorts and fiddles with the edge of her jacket.

“I just don't want to have to stealing things to live.” She says and Grantaire nods. “It's been like this forever, R, It's nice having someone else do the work.”

Grantaire sighs and they sit in silence for a while. Eponine's nails are black. They match her jacket. She drums then against the concrete in a quick march.

“I'm thinking of getting an actual job.” He mutters. She pulls her head to look up at him, her eyebrows drawn together in a way that is almost comical. Her fingers stop. “Nothing serious, not yet. But maybe I should go check out some shops nearby or something.”

“Are you drunk right now? Is that what's happening?” Eponine snaps and now Grantiare's eyebrows are the ones that raise. “Seriously? You can make over a hundred dollars just during rush hour here, and you want to go slave away as some cashier at Walmart for minimum wage?”

“I do have a degree, you know.”

“Like a degree is worth shit today! And yours especially, you get into Vassar, spend a shitload of money, and for what? A bachelor's in classics!” She exclaims and Grantaire shrugs. “You asshole. I hate you so much. I hope you drown in student loans.” She drops her head back onto Grantaire's shoulder, none too gently. Grantaire grins.

“Weren't you just saying that you don't want to depend on pick-pocketing?”

“I don't _want_ to, that doesn't mean that I have the ability to _stop._ ” She yells and an old woman with a pillbox hat glares at them. They both ignore her. Serves her right for wearing a pillbox hat. Eponine sighs.“Whatever. I need to get the subways today, I'm meeting 'Nasse in Chinatown.”

Grantaire freezes. “What?”

“I need to take the subways, if that's alright with you?” She says again. Grantaire shrugs, still tense, and pushes her off. She grumbles, but stands anyway. This time it's Eponine that grabs his hands and hoists him up.

“Should I get you some dinner or will you not be home tonight?”

“Probably not.” She says, Grantaire sighs like an extremely put-upon housewife with eighteen kids. Eponine punches him in the arm, and then hugs him quickly. “See you tomorrow, _mom_.”

“Don't stay out past ten.” He says, mimicking an old woman. Eponine laughs, but it's tense. They leave without quiet goodbyes, and Grantaire wonders when things between them became so awkward.

He makes his way down to the trains without much bother. No one familiar notices him, and all the police ignore his existence as always. He doesn't spot Enjolras, which is both comforting and nerve-wracking. He tries to watch his back, and it deludes himself into a false sense of security for a while.

He slips the third wallet of the evening rush back into its owner's pocket quickly. There was only a twenty in there, so he had left it. He falls back into stride with the crowd and slides to the left, trying to make his way to the wall where he can catch a better look at his prey.

At first all he sees is a suit that fits the man almost too well, he starts to make his way towards his target, then he sees the hair. He accidentally makes eye contact.

It's him- Enjolras. Grantaire freezes instinctively. Enjolras says something too him, but he's ten feet away in a crowded train station, the words decompose in the air. His eyes are narrowed, however, so Grantaire turns. He runs.

The first thing Eponine told him, when they were both 21 and struggling to make ends meet, is that running is the absolute last resort. Running is reserved for when there are three or more cops on your tail and _they_ are running after you. Running is for when there is a gun trailed on you by some angry soccer mom. Running is not for when you are spooked. Running is not for when you are scared. Running is when you are two seconds away from twenty to life, or death.

When you run, you look guilty. Everyone looks at a man who is running in a crowd of people. If you ever get caught, you need to blend in, not stand out. And maybe that's why when he turns to run he automatically plows straight into the chest of the head of security.

Grantaire falls and hits the ground like a ton of bricks, somehow managing to spin around just enough to land on his ass and crack his head on the cement. He yelps, and it's way too loud to go unnoticed. The head of security, the infamous Javert, and about thirteen other people offer out a hand. Enjolras stands behind Javert, looking slightly concerned but mostly confused.

“Are you injured?” Javert says briskly, as soon as Grantaire is back on his feet. Grantaire touches where his head met the ground and then shakes his head. “Might I ask why you were running away?”

“Sorry, Sir. I was trying to avoid my Ex, I guess it's useless now.” Grantaire fibs. “Hey, Enjolras.”

“Hello. And hello, Officer Javert.” Enjolras says smoothly.

“Oh, hello Enjolras. This is your Ex?” The officer says and Enjolras nods. “I can see why you broke up with him. Do be careful, won't you?”

“Yes, sorry again, sir.” Grantaire mutters. Javert nods and turns back towards the train, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire alone in the sea of people. “I, uh, better be going then.”

“Wait,” Enjolras commands and grabs Grantaire's wrist before he can flee. “Why were you running from me? The truth now.”

“Why do you know Javert so well? Do I have competition in the ex boyfriend department?” Grantaire says shakily.

“Be serious.”

“Let go of me.” Enjolras does, and Grantaire rubs his wrist. It hadn't hurt, not at all, but he'd like to make Enjolras think that it did.

“You haven't called us, I’m assuming that means you were here to rob people then.”

“Maybe I just had a train to catch.”

“Unlikely.” He hesitates, and Grantaire draws a slow breath. “Do you have a place to live?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here then? What do you need?”

“Money with which to keep that place to live. Rent isn't cheap. Neither is food or clothes or fucking breathing in this damn city.” Grantaire says and falls back closer to the wall. Enjolras follows him there and somehow manages to crowd him even when there is a good two feet between them.

“What's your name?” Enjolras breathes and Grantaire hesitates. “Oh come on, I'm not going to report you.”

“Grantaire.” He says as a leap of faith. “Friends call me R.”

“Grantaire.” Enjolras repeats, and it sounds like pure honey on his tongue. He shuffles closer to make way for a group of teenagers. “Do you still have the card I gave you?” He nods. “Call it sometime. We can help you out.”

“If I call it can I get your personal number too?” Grantaire mutters. Enjolras's lips twitch up.

“Wasn't I your ex a couple of minutes ago?” Grantaire wants to punch him with his lips.

“I think we should kiss and make up already.” Enjolras chuckles and _good god_ someone call Javert because being that hot should be illegal.

“Maybe some other time.” Enjolras says and backs up. The space between them is suddenly very large and the only thing Grantaire is sure of is that he does not like it one bit. Scratch that, he is also sure of the fact that Enjolras's neck look positively delicious.

Then he's absolutely sure he's flirting with an asshole. Shit.

“I better be going, then.” Grantaire says and straightens. Enjolras looks at him a bit longer than necessary, but then nods.

“Right, see you later. Don't forget to call the number!” He calls and Grantaire nods as he walks away. He is careful to avoid the gaze of Javert, who has gone back to standing by the main terminal. The card in his pocket seems large and heavier than it was before. He finds himself wondering what the hell just happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such lovely comments on the last chapter! Everything you say does help an awful lot is writing these, not to mention it's super sweet!!!


	3. The Demon that is the Land Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Thenardier is someone you do not want to mess with.  
> Like, ever.

He arrives at the apartment half an hour later with little clue as to what's going on, but what else is new? All he knows is that his limbs have reached a point where they feel more like chains dragging him down than the flesh and blood he knows them to be.

Grantaire drags himself up the stairs without any pretense, while trying to be quiet all the same. The land lady is scary when she wants to be, which is pretty much all of the time. He's spent weeks avoiding Mrs. Thenardier and her infamous con of a husband, whether it's just slipping the rent under their door or being silent in his home for hours on end.

A sharp opening of said landlady's apartment door reminds him that he can never outrun his problems.

“Grantaire, right, there you are.” Mrs. Thenardier booms. She storms up to him, her arms thrashing about in a wild manner that would befit a windmill more than a woman.

He mutters a hello and tries to dodge her, but soon his back is pressed against the railing of the stairs and if he goes any farther he will probably die, so he stops moving and lets the beast crowd him into a corner.

“I need the rent. Now.” She commands. Grantaire draws a blank.

“What?”

“Rent. One hundred and fifty dollars. Now.” She barks and Grantaire swings down a couple steps to walk around her.

“I gave it to you last week! I put it under your door like I always do!”

“You did no such thing! You wanna get evicted or do you want to pay your damn rent?” She screeches.

Grantaire feels his entire skull tighten around his brain. He rubs the back of his neck to try to stop the headache from coming on, but it's coming on stronger than a drunk frat boy to a pretty sorority girl.

“Okay, give me a sec.” He says flatly and walks up the stairs. He barely has the door unlocked when there is a shrieking from the floor below to hurry up. He leaves the door open and goes to his emergency stash of money in the freezer. The colds air flows over him when he does not bother to close it right away. He unzips the Ziploc bag, brushes off some ice, and pulls out the wrinkled dollar bills. He counts it quickly.

Only fifty.

_Shit._

“Uh, Mrs. Thenardier?” He calls down the stairs. He instant regrets it when she comes stomping back up, fire in her eyes and her fists clenched, her knuckles straining against skin. “I only have fifty, and Eponine won't be back until later. Can we get the rest to you by Friday?”

Her lips pull back and it looks like she might growl at him for a couple of seconds before she visibly restrains herself from strangling him.

“Wednesday. Eight at night, at the _latest_.” She snarls. Grantaire nods, emotionless. He feels hollow, like the dead petals of a flower that accumulate at the bottom of a vase. Mrs. Thenardier huffs and grabs the offered money like a toddler grabbing at food. She disappears back to her lair immediately afterwords.

Grantaire stands there for a long time. From the top of the stairs he can just begin to see the rooftops through the window in the stairway. The sky is reaching the point at night where all lights blaze out like spotlights.

He wonders what it feels like to not worry about money constantly.

He wonders what it feels like to be fully alive.

He wonders if he ever truly was.

Grantaire leaves the hallway with the sense that the entire world is conspiring against him, and the feeling perches on his back and follow him back into his apartment. His shoulders sag under the weight, but his walk is more focused than it normally is. He just wants to get to bed and get some sleep.

But when he gets into bed and the lights are off, he can't sleep. He sits up and digs around for his booze, but he can't drink either. He can barely even manage to look up at the ceiling. His head pounds, and he can't stop thinking about money and wallets to pick and how Eponine might have to stay with her greasy-ass boyfriend because they really need money.

He shudders at the idea of screwing them both over, he doesn't know if he could live with digging Eponine deeper into the grave of poverty.

Grantaire stands and walks into the living room without any rush. He does not bother to flip the light switch, considering he already knows this apartment like the back of his hand and the jacket is only a couple of feet away, hanging from a chair at the tiny table in the kitchen.

He reaches into his left coat pocket. He pulls out the tiny business card and drops it on the table. He sits down in front of it and waits, both for the courage and for the next day to come already. He falls asleep there, his hand placed firmly over the card, protecting it from the cold morning air.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god???? you guys have been SUPER SWEET in your responses and wow thank you!! Please continue to leave some constructive criticism because I am trying to develop my writing and your reviews help me a LOT. Thank you so much for reading, and I'm sorry this is so short. I'm Super Duper Busy right now, but i'm still goign to try and update around once a week!


	4. A Call for Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finally calls Enjolras.

Grantaire thinks it might be ten when he finally summons up the courage to call Enjolras.

He woke up at seven.

He spends the long hours in between sitting at the table, looking down at the card, and drinking from a bottle of red wine that was stored above the refrigerator. He is a little more than pleasantly tipsy, but his thoughts are less than pleasant.

Enjolras probably disdains him. He's just some poor nothing that will help his karma. He might even run a business that exploits the poor. Grantaire shouldn't call him.

He calls him.

He regrets this decision from the sounding of the very first ring.

He drums his fingernails against the table in a quick succession as it rings. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four. One-two-three-f-the phone picks up. _Oh shit._

“Hello!” A cheery male voice says on the other end. “Cafe Musain, Jehan Speaking. A cat has thirty-two muscles in each ear; how may I help you?”

“Hi?” Grantaire says it like a question. The man sounds exactly like what he'd expect a yoga instructor to sound like, all melodious and happy while still being calm. “I was told to ask for Enjolras?”

“Ah, ABC stuff or personal?”

“Um, I don't know? My name's Grantaire, he might remember me?”

“ _Grantaire._ ” Jehan breathes and Grantaire is suddenly way too self-conscious to be comfortable. “Do you really have amazing hair?”

“What?” There is an intense shuffling on the other end of the phone, he's pretty sure a chair falls over, and a few harsh words that Grantaire doesn't catch are growled through teeth. Someone grabs the phone and there is a deep breath on the other end.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says. His lips twitch upward without his consent. “You called.”  
“Obviously you underestimate how much I actually want to get to know you better.” Shit, that was a stupid thing to say. Why did he say that? He sounds like a desperate fool. Enjolras snorts but Grantaire is only slightly relaxed by it.

“What do you need, Grantaire?” Oops, and there goes all type of calm kicking and screaming out the window. He takes a breath longer than necessary to answer. His voice is quiet and shaky and everything he wishes it wasn't.

“Okay so I had all the money I needed to pay rent, I was doing well, right? And it's not like i'm a druggie or anything, and neither is Eponine so we have a pretty defined flow and flux of money. So I thought I was set for now, I was even looking at jobs a bit. I swear.

“But apparently my crook of a land lady lost the entire rent for this month and I only had fifty total to pay her in my emergency funds and we don't have any money for food and I don't want Eponine to get money from Montparnasse because that's probably gang money and I don't want her getting too in debt to him, and basically I need a hundred dollars by Wednesday and I’d like a job.”

Grantaire doesn't move, though he desperately needs to breath. He had spoken too rushed and too worried, but that just was his mental state. Enjolras does not miss a beat.

“We can get you the hundred today, that's not an issue. You won't owe us anything either, a hundred isn't too bad. We can see what we have listed for jobs, but we're going to give you a grant for food and other things. We can probably get you a new apartment if it's an issue, but it may take a while.” Enjolras says, his voice serious, exactly like what Grantaire would expect of a businessman. However, there is a hint of compassion, or maybe just plain passion for his job.

“I don't know. The landlady is technically Eponine's mother.”

“We'll figure that out when it's time. Can you come to the cafe or do you need a ride?”

“Where is it?”

“It's about a ten minute's walk from Central Park. I can pick you up, I’ve got a few errands to run today.” Grantaire mutters an okay. “When should I pick you up?”

“Whenever works for you.”

“Twelve thirty work? We can get lunch at the cafe.”

“It's a date.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short you guys! I'm working on a BIG CHAPTER right now. SHIT"S GONNA HAPPEN is all that i'm saying.  
> Once again, so many thanks to those of you who left comments! Wow you guys are super cute! I'm glad you're enjoying it! Please continue to tell me what you think because it's really helpful you have no idea. Love you all! (expect an update.... friday or saturday? Now to go watch vikings!! Woo!)


	5. Free, Delicious Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire finally get down to business. (Actual business, get your mind out of the gutter!)

Grantaire's showered, dressed, and slightly less drunk by the time he expects Enjolras to show up. He's drunk enough to keep on his sarcastic mask, but not drunk enough to fall down the stairs. He even brushes his teeth in the middle of the day to get rid of the smell of alcohol. 

He realises that it is a bit stupid that he is getting all fancy, and stupider that he actually cares. He throws a red beanie over his hair for the sake of not overdoing it. He skids down the stairs and opens the front door without bumping into anyone harboring ill will, wich is a nice change. Grantaire waits outside the front door, sitting on the gum-ridden cement steps. He nervously picks at his boots for about ten minutes.  

“Hello, Grantaire” He looks up. Enjolras, in all his radiant glory, is standing in front of him on the worn sidewalk. He is wearing a clean, white button-up and a tie under a freshly ironed jacket. Big mistake.

“Jesus, Enjolras, are you insane?”

“What?”

“God, you know nothing about these areas of the city, do you?” Enjolras shrugs. Grantaire sighs and stands.

“Let's get to your car quickly. You're like a neon sign right now.” Grantaire brushes off the dirt on his jeans and follows Enjolras back to his car, careful to keep an eye for any of the neighbors who might need a little extra in their wallet. They don't get mugged, but they get a couple of weird looks. He stays close to Enjolras's side.

Enjolras pauses in front of a sleek black car only long enough to unlock it. Grantaire skids around the front and slides into the passenger side. The interior of the car is impeccably clean, aside from a large box full of fliers in the backseat. Grantaire buckles and faces the road, careful to avoid Enjolras' eyes.

“So, what is this Cafe Musain thing?” He asks, still watching the road. He sees Enjolras glance at him out of the corner of his eye.

“It's a cafe.”

“ _No way._ ” Grantaire mutters sarcastically. “Seriously, whats this ACDC society thing?” Enjolras barks out a laugh.

“The ABC Society, It's a group of mine that is trying to help people, that's all.”

“Descriptive. Is it a  _secret society?_ ”

“If I said yes would that satisfy you?”

“Probably not.” Grantaire grins and flicks his eyes up to Enjolras. He is also smiling slightly. They are silent for the rest of the car ride, but the tension is diffused.

Enjolras turns around a bend about half an hour later into a very tiny parking lot. There were only about five spaces, and four of them were taken. It was underground and dark, but somehow Enjolras managed to squeeze his car into the space.

They walk up by the exit, and the toll guy just nods at Enjolras, looking over Grantaire quickly before turning back to the book in his hands. They reach the sidewalk, Grantaire following behind Enjolras silently. The city air is more stale here than it is at his house. He vaguely smells eggs, and maybe some donuts.

Only ten feet from the parking garage is a small cafe. The cafe protrudes a little bit onto the sidewalk, with greenhouse-like large panes of crystal clear glass surrounding a couple of tables. There is a floral design around the sign that states the name,  _Cafe Musain,_  in twirly cursive letters. Enjolras holds the door open for him.

Inside is even more charming than the outside. The main room is much larger than it seemed to be. There is long counter on the left with a variety of bakes goods behind it and a long chalkboard menu above it. On the right there are more tables and a couple of cute couches with floral purple pillows.

“Enjolras!” Calls out the man behind the counter. He is grinning wider than should be humanly possible, and his long slightly curly blond hair is braided over his shoulder. “Oh my god, is this Grantaire?”

“Yes. Jehan-”

“What?”

“Stop freaking out.” Jehan humphs and turns around, still grinning.

“Normal for you, Enjolras? Grantaire what would you like?” Jehan looks over his shoulder. Grantaire shakes his head, he can't afford it anyway.

“I've got it covered, none of the ABC society has to pay, we rent out the back room pretty much all the time, so drinks are free.” Enjolras mutters. Grantaire hesitates anyway.

“Chai latte?” He asks, and Jehan positively glows, nodding and scrambling around to gather up ingredients. Enjolras leads Grantaire into one of the back corners and opens a small door, again holding it open for Grantaire.

Inside is a square room with a large table in the middle. To one side against a wall is a large couch and around the table is a multitude of chairs, no two the same. The walls are bright red, and the back wall is covered in papers and pamphlets and other indistinguishable notes.

Enjolras motions for Grantaire to sit. He picks a seat close to the wall of paper, where Enjolras is pacing and looking over every single sheet of miserable dead tree fiber. There is more paper there than there is wall. The wall may just be paper, because he can't see anything behind it.

Jehan shoves the door open with his hip and swings into the room, their two drinks in one hand and a plate of sugar cookies with purple frosting in the other.

“Here's your drinks, and these are fresh cookies from today, we're trying out some new recipes so this frosting is berry flavored. Enjoy!” Jehan shines with warmth and joy. Grantaire thanks him and Jehan leaves, sweeping out of the room like a goddamn dancer.

“He's very cheery.” Grantaire says. Enjolras chuckles and unpins a couple of papers from the wall.

“Yes, Even if the food here wasn't fantastic everyone would come anyway just to make Jehan smile.” Grantaire grins and picks up one of the cookies and bites into it. A couple of crumbs fall onto his chin, but that's the last thing he's thinking about right now because  _holy tap-dancing Christ on a bike that is beautiful._ The frosting is still fresh and the cookie is the perfect mix between chewy and soft. It is possibly the best cookie that has ever existed in the universe, let alone that Grantaire has eaten. He might have moaned a tiny bit, but if Enjolras noticed the tiny orgasm he just had he didn't say anything.  _Real fucking wonderful food._

Enjolras returns to the table with the complexion that Grantaire has come to know as the “Defeating the Huns” face. He spreads the papers in from of Grantaire and picks up a few for himself.

“Okay, so there are three major grants that you qualify for, and there is no competition for any of them right now so you're pretty clear. How much money do you need until you get a job?” They talk over what Grantaire needs, and Grantaire tries to keep the money they will give him tiny, but in the end Enjolras gives him an extra hundred on top of what he needs anyway, all in cash. Enjolras shifts those papers to the side.

“Okay, jobs. What level of education did you reach?”

“A bachelor's in classics from Vassar.” Grantaire mutters, Enjolras looks intrigued, but he doesn't say anything.

“Any special abilities?” Grantaire shrugs.

“I can mix drinks, but I haven't gone to school for it or anything. I'm an alright cook when I have the ingredients for it.” The door bangs against the wall and Jehan runs in with a passion. Some of the papers on the back wall fly down due to the wind. Grantaire swings his head around, alarmed. Enjolras just looks annoyed.

“You can cook? What can you cook?”

“Jehan are you going to listen outside the door every time I have a person in here?” says Enjolras, but it goes unnoticed.

“I can cook most things. I mean, I usually need a recipe for the more fancy things but I can make burgers and stuff no problem.”

“Can you make crepes?”

“Yeah, sweet and savory.” Grantaire says. Jehan looks like he's just found buried treasure.

“I need you to come into the kitchen and make me some crepes right now. This officer asked for crepes and the other person who usually makes them is not here and it is an emergency. Enjolras, stop giving me that look, I can't disappoint one of our best customers!” Grantaire laughs. Jehan grabs his hand and drags him back into the main room, where Javert is sitting at the back table.

Grantaire barely keeps himself from squeaking in surprise. He avoids eye contact like the plague, and maybe he slides behind Jehan as to avoid confrontations. He would deny it if anyone asked, however.

The crepes are easy enough to make, Jehan has all the recipes they use in the cafe in a large binder and the kitchen is fairly easy to navigate, though Grantaire loses the whisk a couple of times. Grantaire makes two servings, one for the customer and one for Jehan, at his request.

Jehan delivers the meals first before coming back to try his. Grantaire thinks about trying to stop him, but he's beginning to think nothing in the universe could stop Jehan. Grantaire nervously taps his fingers on the counter next to the giant stove in the back kitchen. Jehna's lifting up the crepe... 3... 2... 1... and we have liftoff.

“Oh my god. Enjolras, come try this!” Jehan says with a mouthful of crepe. Enjolras comes into the kitchen and looks over Grantaire and Jehan with a wary eye.

“What am I trying?” Enjolras says. Jehan digs a fork into the crepe and spings around shoving it into Enjolras's mouth. Enjolras gives Jehan a murderous glare but eats the mouthful anyway, his eyes widening. He takes the fork out of his mouth. “You made this, Grantaire?”

“Yeah, is it alright?”

“Alright?!” Jehan exclaims. “This is amazing, If you need a job, you've got one here!”

“Seriously?!” says Grantaire. Jehan nods a bit too much, a huge grin on his face. Grantaire laughs. He could hug that adorably floral man. Enjolras is also smiling, but it's more contained.

“Guess you're all covered, then.” Enjolras says. Grantaire grins at him and nods. “I'll be seeing you here a lot then, The ABC society is here most work hours and sometimes after they close.” Jehan laughs.

“As long as you all keep on paying me, you can stay as long as you want.” Jehan leans up and gives Enjolras a kiss on the cheek, and then does the exact same to Grantaire. Oh no, he's blushing ike a complete idiot. Jehan laughs joyfully. Grantaire sees Enjolras's goodhearted smirk and is struck with a thought.

He'll be seeing him a lot.

Grantaire could punch the sky right now.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo long chapter! Yeah buddy! I hope you enjoyed it, and please tell me what you think! Things are getting pretty hard over here, but I will try to get a chapter up sometime next weekend.   
> Have a lovely day!


	6. One Potato-sized Bruise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's first day at work, complete with potato warfare, Grantaire being completely cool, Enjolras's eyes sparkling like an anime when he mentions his work, and Grantaire being completely uncool. All in a days work.

Grantaire falls into a working schedule without many problems.

Except for the fact that the co-owner of the cafe hits him with a whole potato on the first day of work. 

Well, She did not mean to, per say. 

Actually, she did mean to, and the bruise on his lower back certain shows that she has pretty good aim. But she did not realize that he was supposed to be there.

He had just come in for his first day of work, relatively sober and twitching from nerves, craving something strong but avoided it. He did not want to lose this job so fast, and if Enjolras was there...

Especially if Enjolras was there, not only was Grantaire harboring a little bit of a, how do the third graders say it, _crush,_ but now this guy was also giving him some grants. Which he _would pay back if it killed him_ , but still, he didn't want to see like some idiot punk off the street. He could handle things like a mature adult.

Which is why he goes directly to work, his teeth and hair brushed, smelling like some of Eponine's perfume from when he accidentally walked into the crossfire in the morning. He simply waves to Jehan and makes his way back into the kitchen to wash his hands and start preparing for the breakfast rush. He sets a pan up and sprays it with oil, it hisses.

That's when it hits him. 

Literally, a potato smacks him on his lower back. He ducks too late, mouthing an “ow,” and turns around to see a bewildered curvy woman in an apron wielding another potato. 

“Can I help you?!” He exclaims, his vioce squeking worse than any pubesent kid. Thankfully he catches the next potato that is flung at him.

“What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“I work here?” He says, rubbing where the tuber hit him. He can already feel where an angry mark will soon form. His skin bruises like a peach. The woman stares at him for a beat, sizing him up, and then turns around and bursts out the door.

“Jean Prouvaire!! You hired someone without me??” There is a burst of nervous laughter from Jehan, a mocking laugh from the lady, and then Jehan swings into the kitchen, the furious woman in toe. 

“Musichetta, this is Grantaire. Grantaire, this is Musichetta, my sister and the co-owner.” He points to Musichetta. “Don't scare the newbie off, the ABC society brought him here, and he makes crepes that are _to die for_.” 

“Not as good as mine, I hope!” Musichetta humphs and walks back into the kitchen, her skirt whipping behind her as she fastens her apron tighter around her waist. As soon as Jehan ducks back out to the bar her stern face softens and she gives a small smile to Grantaire. 

“He never tells me anything, the bastard.” She says. 

“I heard that!” Jehan calls out.

“I know!” She turns to the oil that he had prepared earlier. “You do the fried stuff, that's pretty easy for your first day.” She walks back to her potatoes. “And don't worry, we're fairly forgiving if you screw up, and the recipes are fairly straightforward. As long as you cover the lunch rush, I'll love you forever.”

 

Grantaire almost bounces over to Enjolras when he walks in the door that night. He then stops right before the kitchen door because that would be _not at all cool_ and pretends not to notice him as he swings back around. Because he is, after all, the coolest. 

“He's in the back, you can go ahead.” Jehan says. Grantaire pushes his hair back from his face and puts the french onion soup in the oven. He's cool, he's collected, he's got this. 

“Grantaire?” Enjolras calls out. His voice is, simply, perfect.

“Over here.” 

“How did your first day go?” He says, sliding up next to him.

“Great, Musichetta hit me with a potato and I broke like three egg yolks while trying to fry them.” He says and turns to see Enjolras leaning to peak into the oven. Grantaire laughs and Enjolras's lips turn up. 

“I heard good things from her, so she can't have been angry with you. She said they you were the first cook that didn't freak out at the lunchtime rush on their first day. I'm impressed.” Grantaire flashes a smile as a thanks and shurgs.

“You forget my previous way of getting money. Stealing from wealthy buisinessmen who the law would clearly favor in a trail is only slightly more scary than thirty hungry college kids." Enjolras grimaces, but nods in understanding. Grantaire grimaces too, but at his stupidity for brining up his past. "How is your ABC thing going?" Enjolras's eyes flash brighter than the sun at the mention of his society. Grantaire tries not to be blinded, but it's a futile effort. 

“Good, we'll get there eventually. We're having an open talk in the main room of the cafe next week, you should come!” 

“I'm sure I’ll see some of it, I’m working most days.” 

“I'm glad, I’d love to hear what you think.” Enjolras smiles the most honest and true smile that Grantaire has seen from him. Grantaire is smooth as all hell. Look at this fox. This player has no idea what he's doing, oh god. Someone help him. 

“What is it, exactly?” 

“We're a growing group of people trying to bring about reforms in Washington to help the lower classes and those still oppressed by those in power. Mostly focusing on equal opportunity for all, regardless of economic status, gender, or sexual preference.” The answer is rehearsed, but there is a pleased note in Enjolras's voice that still makes it sound engaging. 

“Interesting.” Grantaire says, even though the only thing interesting about it is that it has to do with Enjolras. He should have known he was falling for an idealist. 

“We also do non-profit work whenever we have the means to, which is usually what most of the money we raise goes to. About fifteen percent goes to furthering our goals of freedom.” 

“Freedom.” Grantaire says, feigning interest as he turns back to dice some vegetables. “Of course.” 

“Yes, of course.” Enjolras says, completely missing Grantaire's tone. He nods noncommittally and tosses the diced carrots into the pan. Enjolras smiles. This is going nowhere. But just when he thinks that this is going to get painfully awkward, Musichetta sticks her head in from the dining area. 

“Enjolras, you better get out here, your boy band turned political group is arriving.”

“You're dating two members of my boy band.” 

“Shut up and get out here before they riot.” She said, eloquently. Enjolras turns to Grantaire and gives him another real smile. Two in one day, Grantaire thinks, he's getting somewhere. 

“See you later? Please do come to our meeting, we'd really love the support.” 

“Sure, seeya!” Grantaire is a complete idiot. He's just walking away. Fuck, that got him nowhere. Great. 


	7. The Wobbling Table of Justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire's beliefs finally come to light, and Enjolras offers him a ride home.

Okay, so he did act like a complete idiot and make everything awkward, but that doesn't stop his stubborn, idiot heart to still love the way Enjolras's eyes glow when he talks about revolution, or the way his stupid golden hair has fucking perfect glowing curls. His affections for this idealistic idiot are getting to be a bit extreme, even for his usual round of romantic shenanigans that always lead to a broken heart and lost time. 

But he can't help it. 

It's a horrible flaw, he knows this, he remembers it every time he sees Enjolras parading around the cafe like he owns the place, with his hands flying around and his mouth, his gorgeous lips that could probably use some lip balm, talking of nothing but revolution and help for the underdog. Grantaire scoffs at every word, but is still mesmerized by the elegance and rhythm of his speech. 

And the worst part is, whenever the opportunity arises, when Enjolras is starting to leave for the night, the two of them the only ones left besides some writers in the corner, he'll always come over to Grantaire behind the bar. Just a quick goodbye on his lips, the same from Grantaire, and he's gone. 

The perfect opportunity, with minimal embarrassment if he is turned down, and he can never bring himself to say the words that would at the very least make his emotions known. 

It sucks. 

It very quickly turns from grins to grimaces when Enjolras comes to say goodbye. A bad taste in his mouth when Enjolras talks. At night, when Eponine is already asleep and the house is mostly quiet, aside from the sound of the television from the more obnoxious neighbors and the races cars outside the window, he has a couple more drinks than is absolutely necessary. He's a planet in orbit around the sun, and he has already had his fair share of sunburn. 

There are not enough tables in the cafe to hold the crowds of people that flock there to hear Enjolras speak. Some stand, some sit on the floor, which is a pain in the ass on busy nights when Grantaire helps serve and almost trips over everyone below shoulder level. 

That's where he turns from a planet in orbit to an asteroid plummeting against the surface. His stomach always clenches when he sees the way they all look to Enjolras like he is the messiah. They follow him blindly. Javert has taken to sitting in the very back of the cafe and stay for the ABC's performance. 

It's exactly that, a performance. Enjolras waltzes around the cafe to get the audience on his side, each move calculated and focused. It makes Grantaire grind his teeth whenever he sees it. 

“The people will rise! These chains of false democracy and equality will be broken and at last the powerless will have power!” Enjolras declares from on top of a table that wobbles with every dramatic swoop of his arm. The crowd of people shouts out there approval, but Grantaire, while avoiding stepping on the people sitting crisscross-applesauce in front of Enjolras's platform, snorts a bit too loud. Jehan sends him a warning look from the bar. Enjolras sends a look his way, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Time freezes. The words he has been thinking all night bubble forth from his lips.

“Your revolution might free the middle class, but the poor will still be poor. Just with more people thinking that they are infinitely better than them having the power.” Grantaire says, looking up at Enjolras with eyes unafraid. Time resumes as a couple of people make noises of outrage, but Enjolras makes them quiet down with one look.

“It's good that we're being challenged, we can always find ways to improve in the face of adversity.” Enjolras says, and turns back to face him, a smile half hospitable and half fond on his lips. “Grantaire, I was wondering when you'd speak up.” 

Grantaire is pretty sure he can see Jehan mimicking cutting off his own head in his peripheral vision, but neither pay him any attention. 

“What you fail to see is that the poor are only being suppressed by those in the positions of power now, wealth redistribution through progressive taxes and social reforms will lead to a future where everyone has the opportunities for success, and success is determined by talent and dedication not socioeconomic status!” The cheer from the crowd drowns out Grantaire's comeback, so he just rolls his eyes and returns to the kitchen with a stack of dirty dishes. He's starting to regret liking someone with such an optimistic worldview. 

 

 

Enjolras approaches him after most of his followers are dispersed, his eyes have slight bags under them and his smile is too exhausted to be voluntary. Grantaire is preparing the regular for him before he even gets near to the bar.

“I had no idea our beliefs were so different.” He says, accepting the coffee from Grantaire. 

“Well, you ideals are a bit high for my reality.” Grantaire mutters as as he wipes off the abused bar. “Jehan! We're pretty much ready to close, It's midnight.” He calls out to the kitchen. He turns back to find Enjolras leaning over the counter, closer than he expected. He takes a slow breath and smiles nervously. 

“We stayed a bit late tonight, I'm sorry, do you need a ride home?” Enjolras asks, a light smile on his lips. Grantaire freezes.

“Okay?” he says, and then realizes he sounds stupid. He shakes the surprise out of his mind. “Yeah, that would be great, thanks. Let me just go get my stuff.” Enjolras smiles and nods. Grantaire stumbles into the kitchen. 

“Jehan!” there is an audible smack as Jehan separates himself from Courfeyrac's lips. “Hey Courf, sorry, just wanted to let you know that I’m going to head out now.” 

“Do you need a ride? It's pretty late to be taking the subway.” 

“Enjolras is driving me, but thanks.” 

“Oh!” Jehan exclaims, he detaches his lower half from Courfeyrac's hips and scoots over to Grantaire. “Do you need anything?” 

Grantaire definitely does not blush.

“I don't think he likes me that way.” Courfeyrac and Jehan look at each other. Jehan chuckles. 

“You're both going to be really stupid about all of this, aren't you.” Jehan says, still looking at Courfeyrac. 

“I've been thinking of starting a bet with Combeferre. He thinks they're going to sort it out logically.” Courfeyrac says, grinning. 

“I dare you to kiss him!” 

“Okay, leaving now!” Grantaire twitches his wrist in a mock of a wave. Jehan and Courfeyrac both laugh, and get back to their face sucking. Grantaire rolls his eyes and returns to the dining area of the cafe, grabbing his coat and hat from the peg by the kitchen entrance. 

“Ready?” Enjolras asks, finishing off his coffee. Grantaire nods in reply and tries to smile. They return to that same garage where Enjolras parked the first time they came here. His car is even in the same place. Grantaire laughs silently at the fact. 

“So you're really serious about this revolution thing.” Grantaire says when they are far enough away from the cafe that Enjolras can't turn around and leave him there for pissing him off. He could, however, just leave him at the side of the road, but he doesn't think that Enjolras is the type. It would be too impolite. 

“Yes, I thought that was obvious.” 

“You have seen Javert sitting in the back every night, haven't you?”

“Of course. I've talked to him about it, he seems to be sympathetic with our position.” Grantaire laughs dryly. 

“Of course,” Grantaire says sarcastically. “When you start truly revolting it won't be as such. He once threw out a single mother with three kids who was staying in the subway overnight while it was hailing last January. He has no sympathy for the poor, only obsession with the law.” 

“We're not breaking any laws.” 

“No revolution was ever completely legal. Once you start truly fighting you're all going to end up with very expensive bails.” Grantaire mutters. Enjolras frowns, and he rushes to correct it. “Though I admire your dedication to your cause.” 

That makes Enjolras's eyes lighten a bit more. He pulls up in front of Grantaire's building. Grantaire turns to Enjolras as he unbuckles his seat belt.

“Thanks a lot for the ride.” 

“Anytime.” Enjolras says. The silence stretches out a bit longer than it really should.

“ I do mean it, your passion is amazing.” Grantaire says. His eyes flicker down to Enjolras's lips, but flicker up just as quickly when he realizes it. Enjolras smiles and mutters a thanks. 

Grantaire looks down at Enjolras's lips again, and then to his jawline, and then back up to his gorgeous blue eyes. 

That is when a giant thump hit the side of the car, right on Grantaire's window. He jumps in his seat and turns around to see a bruised and beaten face of a young man pressed up against the glass, his finger tapping on the window. His designer sunglasses are cracked on the left side. Grantaire's eyes widen involuntarily. 

“Do you know that guy?” Enjolras whispers, alarmed. Grantaire nods. 

“I'm guessing that is Eponine's ex-boyfriend.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a couple of days! What's that? The sound of me actually writing for once? No, can't be! I am SO SORRY for making you all wait so long! I had to do tests and finals and then summer traveling but I've written a couple more drafts and I should have a clear publishing schedule soon! Woo! Hope you enjoyed, and as always, i'd love to hear from you! Thanks my darlings.


	8. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, a kiss, and some bad tequila.

Grantaire opens the door and shoves Montparnasse to the side. Enjolras gets out of his side of the car as well with his phone in hand.

“Do you need medical attention?” Enjolras asks, flashing a look to Grantaire. Montparnasse laughs darkly.

“Whose this, Grantaire, your boyfriend?” 

“Get the fuck out of here.” Grantaire growls. Montparnasse flashes a smile his way, it's supposed to charm him but its effects are lost. His teeth are chipped and there is blood still oozing from his gums. 

“Don't be like that, 'Ponine did this to me! I just want to talk to her.” Grantaire sneers.

“Just talk, of course. So I let you up there and find her body in a ditch two days from now? I don't think so.” 

“I'd never hurt Eponine, she knows that.” 

“I'm sure the bruises I’m going to see when I get up there are going to say differently.” Montparnasse balls his fists at his sides. Grantaire knows all too well to duck when a fist is swung directly at his face. He steps to the side. Enjolras grabs Montparnasse's arm as he stumbles from missing his target. He drops his phone into his pocket and twists Montparnasses's arm around his back. Grantaire huffs out a nervous laugh. 

“See, Montparnasse, you can beat me up, sure, Enjolras won't be around forever. But that's not going to make Eponine like you anymore. In fact, if you or your stupid gang tries to beat me up, I can pretty much bet that she will hate you.” Grantaire glances at Enjolras, he drops the beaten man with just that look. Montparnasse stumbles. 

“Fucker. That bitch isn't even worth it.” Montparnasse says. Grantaire kicks him to the ground. The concrete makes a satisfying thump from where his head hits. 

“Don't call her a bitch. And don't come back. In fact, forget about everything that happened tonight. You really want to tell your followers that you got beat up by a girl?” Grantaire says. Enjolras locks the car, picks up his phone, and stands next to him. Grantaire turns away from Montparnasse and whispers to Enjolras. “Come upstairs with me, we got to wait for him to leave.” 

They both walk calmly to the front door. Grantaire unlocks it quickly, and shuts the door behind him. It locks with a resounding clunk. Grantaire sighs. 

“I am so, _so sorry_ for bringing you into that.” Grantaire says. “Really, truly sorry. Oh shit, are you alright? Uhg what a bastard.” Grantaire rushes to check for himself, placing his hands on Enjolras's shoulder to hold him in place and looking over for any unnoticed stab wounds or bruises. Enjolras places his hand on top of Grantaire's.

“I'm fine, I swear. He didn't even touch me.” His face is impassive.

“Did you get a concussion? Are you sure?” 

“I'm sure, I am perfectly healthy. You were the one he was actually aiming for, are you alright?” 

“He didn't even touch me. He must be drunk.” Grantaire says. He pinches the space in between his eyes and sighs. “Um, come on. We have to take the stairs.” Enjorlas nods and follows Grantaire up to his apartment. Grantaire hesitates before swinging the unlocked door open. 

“Eponine?” He asks. It's dark in the apartment. 

“Oh fuck, Grantaire! It's about damn time you got home.” The light flickers on. Eponine is standing right next to the door with an empty bottle of whiskey in her hand. Her hair is falling out of her usually french braid, and her mascara has run down her face, but she is not crying. There is a prominent bloodstain on her left shoulder.

“Um, Eponine, this is Enjolras. He got me the job at the cafe.” Eponine's eyes widen as she is faces with the visitor. Her mouth forms a silent “o.”

“Sorry, I look like a mess right now. It's nice to meet you!” She says, shaking his hand and trying to wipe the makeup off her face at the same time, while still juggling the bottle.

“Nice to meet you too. I'm sorry I came at such a bad time.” Enjolras, to his credit, does not seem fazed by anything so far. His charming smile is plastered on his face as he shakes Eponine's hand. 

“We ran into Montparnasse outside.” Grantaire says. Her eyes narrow. 

“Did he fuck with you guys? I swear I'm going to kill him if he did.” 

“He did take a swing at Grantaire, but it was fine in the end.” Enjolras says. Grantaire steps into the living room and shuts the door behind Enjolras, locking it. 

“Eponine, are you alright?” Grantaire asks, taking her bloody hand in his and looking over her even bloodier shoulder. “He didn't stab you, did he?” Grantaire says, alarmed. Eponine laughs. 

“Like I would let him. No, most of this is his blood, I think. Though my hand is pretty messed up. I'll go take care of it now.” She says. Grantaire nods as she walks into the bathroom. She sends him pretty significant glances behind Enjolras's back, however. He rolls his eyes in response. 

“Has this Montparnasse been bothering you a lot?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire offers him a seat on their one couch as he goes to get something to drink. 

“Not me, he was a horrible boyfriend to Eponine though. They fought each other more than 'Parnasse's stupid knife-wielding boy band fights rival gangs. Don't know how he got his money, but it helped pay rent around here so she stuck with the ass for a while.” Grantaire says. “Want anything to drink?” 

“No, thanks.” Enjolras says. Grantaire gets an iced tea (with just a hint of vodka) for himself. 

“Grantaire?” Eponine calls out from the bathroom. “Remember how my mom lost that money a while back?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Montparnasse stole it.” Grantaire freezes. His drink clinks down onto the counter. He stares at the bathroom. 

“You're kidding.” 

“One hundred and fifty from us, along with five hundred from others living in this goddamn apartment. He had been stealing the money from under their door for months.” Grantaire groans, his head falls into his hands as he leans against the counter. 

“What a _dick.”_ Grantaire says into his palm. An unexpected hand rests on his shoulder. Grantaire jerks in response only to see Enjolras standing next to him. “I am so sorry.” Grantaire mutters.

“What for? It's all okay now. You've still got a place to live and you've got a job. It's getting better now, isn't it?” Enjolras says, a sympathetic smile on his face. “And now Montparnasse will leave you two alone. It's fine.” 

“I'll be able to pay you back soon, I feel so horrible for taking your grant money when it was all because of that idiot.” 

“It's really fine, I'm just glad that you're okay.” He says quietly. Shit. His eyes are so blue. Grantaire's own eyes flicker down to his lips and stay there. He really could use some chapstick or at lease drink a little bit more water. There is a ghost of a smile still on his lips. Grantaire wants nothing more but to kiss it off. 

His eyes shut so he can't see Enjolras's face when he rejects him. His hands come to rest on Enjolras's shoulder, pulling him closer. Their chests touch. Their lips touch. 

Grantaire's noise bumps against Enjolras. He twists his face to get closer. 

He was so wrong, his lips need no moisture at all. His lips are oddly soft and smooth and _warm_ as they brush against Grantaire's. Their lips pull apart slowly. Enjolras lets out a breath, and then their lips are once again together. Grantaire wraps his hands around Enjolras's neck and pulls him closer with his (stupid, gorgeous) hair. He captures Enjolras's lower lip, and he bites down gently. Enjolras groans and wraps his hands around Grantaire's hips. Grantaire smiles into the kiss. 

“I got at least two hundred from him tonight, so we should be able to pay you back soon, Enjolras.” Eponine calls from the bathroom. Enjolras steps back with a start, their lips smacking as they disconnect. His eyes are wide, his hair disheveled, and looking properly kissed. He pants quietly with his mouth open. The man and mystery rubs the side of his neck and straightens out his hair. His eyebrows are pinched together. Grantaire sends him a questioning look, but Enjolras give him no answer. 

“Thanks, Eponine.” Grantaire calls. Enjolras shakes his head as if to clear it, and then turns away from Grantaire.

“I should get going, he's probably gone by now.” Enjolras says, his voice quiet for one of the first times since Grantaire has known him. 

“Okay? I'll walk out with you.” 

“No it's okay. You should go check on Eponine.” He says, his voice low and slightly bitter. Grantaire tilts his head and stares at Enjolras.

“Alright, I'll see you later, I guess.” Grantaire mutters. He looks away from Enjorlas as he goes to the door. He picks up his abandoned ice tea on the counter and takes a long drink.

“Right, goodbye.” Enjolras says as he opens the door. Grantaire shoots him one last, desperate look before the door closes with a click. Grantaire stores the iced tea in the refrigerator and instead pulls out the cheap tequila from a cabinet. He pours it into a large glass and goes to check on Eponine in the bathroom. 

She is sitting on the counter, her hand covered in band aids. She is spraying antibacterial medicine over a small cut on her arm when she looks up. Grantaire's drink is already half gone. 

“I think I just got rejected.” Grantaire says, taking another swig from his glass. “Fuck, I have to see him tomorrow, and I think he might be straight. He's going to be all weird now. I hate everything.” 

Eponine drops the medicine on the counter and slides off. Her bare feet hitting the cold tile floor. She wraps her arms around him in a firm hug as he tries to keep her from spilling his drink. She holds him for a few seconds before pulling back and taking his drink from him. She sniffs it and then wrinkles her nose. 

“You're drinking the bad tequila? God, you really liked this guy, didn't you?” She says, Grantaire shrugs in response. She shrugs back at him and drinks the rest of the glass in one go. “You've got work tomorrow?” He nods. “What time?” 

“I've got to get there at eleven for the lunch shift until whatever time it closes.” 

“Good, plenty of time to nurse a hangover. Let's go get drunk.”

 


	9. The Inherent Self-Hatred Exemplified in the Repeated Purchase of Hot Pockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events: Booze, Hangovers, Hot pockets, Misery.

 

The bars all close at two, so they are only out for an hour before they stumble home. However, they still have a stock of booze back at the apartment that rivals even the most accomplished drinkers, so they fall on to the couch and take swigs from a bottle of whiskey after the tequila is gone.

“Shit, 'Ponine. Maybe he's not straight. Maybe he just doesn't like me.”

“Fuck that, who wouldn’t? If you weren't my bro, my bestie, my home dog, we'd have tickled your pickle long ago. I mean, objectively, you're pretty nice.” Grantaire snorts and buries his head into her shoulder.

“ticked the pickle.” he mutters and snorts again. She giggles.

“But hey, hey, guess what?”

“What.”

“Parnasse, is out of here. Forever! He's a dick. Don't you think he's a dick?”

“Major dickface.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. Filthy bastard.”  
“Enjolras is too busy loving this stupid country to like me. He doesn't even like the country. He likes the potential.” Grantaire says, taking another long drink from the whiskey. “He's an idiot.”

“He sounds like an idiot.”

“He's the biggest idiot. He thinks the world is just going to change because a small group are all going to write letters. And once he actually tries to do something he's going to end up in jail and I’m going to laugh.” Eponine giggles. Grantaire flips around so that his head is on the arm rest and his feet are across Eponine's lap. “I'm disgusting. I can't believe I kissed him. That was so stupid.”

“Hey! Hey, no. No way. At least now you know, right? You know hes a stupid person with stupid politics and a stupid face. You're amazing.” Grantaire sighs and rolls off the couch.

“Going to bed.”

“Set your alarm.”

“Fuck.” Grantaire slugs into his bedroom. He sets the alarm to something that sure looked like the right time, but honestly it's getting a little blurry on the vision front. He might have just changed the clock time. He can't be bothered to care, though, because he is too busy falling into the bed and burying his head into a pillow.

“I hate everything so fucking much.” He says to no one. No one replies.

 

 

The next morning his head hurts like a motherfucker.

That was a stupid fucking idea.

Somehow, he manages to drag himself out of bed and fall into shower. The water clears his head a bit, but he swigs back two Advil with tap water and hides Eponine's tiny emergency case of the pills in his back pocket.

“'Ponine, I'm stealing your shark week meds.” He calls out. He does not expect a reply, and he does not get one. Sure enough, as he walks into the kitchen he sees Eponine passed out on the couch with bottles surrounding her. He sighs and picks up the empty ones and tosses them in the trash bag reserved for recycling. He puts the ones with booze back on the table, as he predicts a future use for them.

In the kitchen he plops a stupid fucking hot pocket into the microwave like the piece of shit he is.

The insides are still frozen when he drags it out, and he only takes two bites before tossing it back on it's plate and throwing that shit into the fridge.

“Fuck this.” He says, a bit too loud. Eponine groans in response. “Eponine!”

“Fuck off.”

“I'm heading out now. To, you know, make money.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have you heard of that? Making money, it's a thing some people do.”

“Yeah, actually. You know some of my friends are strippers, maybe I could join them.” She says bitterly. “Of course, most places around here have you do a little extra on the side as well. But good thing we don't need me to do that since my big, strong best friend slash savior is going to go and jiggle his ass while making some fucking pancakes.”

“Shut up” His words have no malice.

“Go bring in the bacon. Actually, serve the bacon. Serve the bacon to rich white stockbrokers while I eat another fucking hot pocket like the piece of shit I am.”

“Why do you keep on buying those things.”

“I don't fucking know.” She groans and slams her face into the couch cushion. “Turn the lights off when you leave.”

“That's the sun.”

“Turn the sun off when you leave.”

“Scientifically impossible.”

“Fuck.” She mutters. He grins a bit as he picks up his jacket and heads out the door, but the moment of forgetfulness he enjoyed during their banter is gone once he walks outside.

His ride on the subway is quiet. He gets a weird look from a pair of girls sitting in the very corner, but he is not sure if they think he is hot or they are admiring the way that he looks like he came back from a very boozed up funeral. The silent headphones in his ears drown out the hustle of the city, as well as their gossip.

The cafe is oddly empty when he arrives. Jehan is carrying a cup of coffee to a man in the corner, and he waves as he sees Grantaire enter. Grantaire gets behind the counter, ten minutes before he shift officially starts, thank god, and struggles with the ties on his apron.

“So?” Jehan says. Grantaire jumps up with a start and turns around, his hands still grasping behind his back to tie his apron. “How'd it go?”

“It didn't.”

“What? What happened? What'd he do?” Grantaire shrugs and avoids Jehan's eyes as he finally ties the apron around his waist.

“I kissed him, and then he left. He was in a quite a hurry too, despite the fact that we fought off a gang leader a couple minutes before.”

“Wait, what? You fought off a gang leader?”

“Yeah. I don't really want to talk about it.” Jehan nods and pulls him into a quick hug. Grantaire does not quite reciprocate, but he does pat Jehan's back awkwardly, almost like he's comforting him instead.

“If it's any relief, you won't have to see him today. Combferre called, they canceled the meeting for tonight.”

“Oh.” Grantaire said. A sigh escapes him. “Thank god.”

“Yeah, you're off the hook. I'll do the waiting on tables today, you go cook. You look like you drank an entire liquor store.” He mumbles the last part, a sympathetic smile on his face.

“Thanks, really. You're great, Jehan.” Grantaire ducks into the kitchen, hiding his hangover and his miserable rejected ass from the world.

 

Jehan ends up sending him home after the lunch rush, insisting that he can handle the final wave without help, even though he really cannot. Grantaire does not protest too much. He buys another bottle of tequila on the way home.

On his way through the door he is assaulted by the smell of curry. Extra spicy curry, the kind that comes with at least three cartoons of menacing chilies when it is listed in a menu. The kind of curry that would make a grown man cry.

And there Eponine is, lying on the couch with her feet propped up on the armrest, slurping up the deathly hot curry noodles like she's snacking on chips.

“Duck pad thai is on the counter.” She states, changing the channel.

“I love you.”

“I know.”

She refuses to move her legs when he approaches, so he slips his but into the space between the back of the couch and her legs. They eat in silence. There is no need to say anything. Eponine flips through the channels like she's murdering each and every one with the wrong show.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He picks it up without realizing.

 

_Courfeyrac warned me that you may be concerned about where we stand now. Rest assured that this will have no effect on your treatment by the ABC, nor will anything change in regards to the grant and other services we provide._

_-Enjolras_

 

 

“Oh jesus fucking louisus.” Grantaire mutters, holding out the phone for Eponine to read. She squints, and then hmphs at the phone.

“What an idiot.”

“Me, or him?” Grantaire mutters, accepting his phone back and then tossing it as far away from him as possible. “God damn.”

“Hand me your phone.”

“I just threw it on the ground.”

“You're a fucking baby. Get up and get it, you're sitting on me.”

“Why?” Grantaire whines.

“I'm going to call this idiot and yell at him.” Grantaire sighs and kicks her in the shin. He rolls off of her to his feet, and kicks his phone a couple more feet away from the couch before depositing the empty plate in the sink. He feels vibrations through the tile once again and looks down to where it lights up. Eponine swoops down and picks it up, and Grantaire mopes over to fall down beside her on the couch once again. She shows the message to him first, while reading over his shoulder.

 

_I truly am sorry. -Enjolras_

 

“Text him back.” She commands. Grantaire just shakes his head and sighs.

“I'm going to go to bed, I replenished our tequila by the way.”

“It's only like 5 in the afternoon. You don't want to break in the bottle?”

“Not right now. I'm tired.” He shuffles off the couch and down the hall to his bedroom.

“Love you!” Eponine calls out. He just grunts in response, pressing his face into the pillows and wrapping the sheets around him instead of bothering to get under them. He probably looks pathetic like this, a grown ass man who is tied to the bed with sheets that have twisted into rope. At least they anchor him. The pain of having them bunched up against his side is bearable. Thinking, is not.

 

 


	10. Birdhouses, Bologna, Belize, Bees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire has to deal with seeing Enjolras again.

 

It's both awkward and not the next time Grantaire sees him. It is night, both he and Jehan know that there is going to be a meeting, and Jehan has been not-so-subtly trying to push him out the door. But it is not like anyone can reach the door anyway, the place is packed. They have not had a night of business like this in weeks, and it is all they can do to cook their butts off and hope that everyone gets what they ordered. Jehan had called Musichetta in as a emergency, but Musichetta is basically stuck in one corner of the kitchen as they get order after order of fries. Nothing else, just fries. Every now and then there will be a milkshake, or a dessert of some kind, which are mostly Grantaire's job. Man cannot live on bread alone but it looks like the revolution will be fueled by salty potatoes.

The issue was that the blender was on the counter, where Grantaire had a front row seat to see all the action. So as he was making the thousandth chocolate milkshake of the night, it was hard not to notice Enjolras walks in the front door to thunderous applause.

He almost lets go of the top of the blender when he sees him. Enjolras strolls in golden and shining. Like the last beam of light reaching out from the sunset. He smiles and looks upon the people like a god blessing his disciples, shaking hands as he approaches the wobbly table of justice, and never pausing for more than a second in order to greet the most people. His hair is held behind his ear with bobby pins. He is glorious.

He nods at Grantaire as he passes him, the smile is dampened a bit, but it is still there. Grantaire turns the blender up a setting and grips the handle tightly. He does not look him in the eye. Grantaire's cheeks have flushed slightly. Fuck. He pours the shake and hands it off to it's proper recipient before whirling back into the kitchen.

“Hey, Musichetta?” Grantaire calls out, the hum of the other room still inhibiting a quieter conversation. “Wanna switch?”

“Why?” Grantaire runs his fingers through his hair.

“Um, just wondering.”

“I'm sorry dear, I didn't shower today and the entire city is out there. You can move the blender in here if you want though.” Grantaire dashes out to get it but just as he is unplugging it from the wall, nails like talons dig into his wrist.

“Grantaire,” Eponine say. He almost drops the blender in shock. “You okay?”

“Fine, jesus. What are you doing here?”

“I got the rest of the money from Montparnasse. One of his back-up singers dropped it off. I came to deliver it, but there seems to be a problem.” Eponine says, slipping behind the counter.

“Eponine, what?” She ducks down to sit on her heels when no one is looking.

“Remember when I had a unhealthy crush on that guy who lived upstairs last year?”

“You never shut up about Marius, how could I forget?” Grantaire says, taking the blender back into the kitchen. Eponine follows him, staying low and watching her back.

“Right, and you remember when I was like, seven, back when I was still middle-class and my parents kind of permanently babysat a girl, before some old guy came and picked her up and no one else found that a bit weird?”

“Barely, but yeah.”

“They are both here, right now, and I am pretty sure they are together.” Grantaire pauses and looks Eponine in the eyes.

“That's a pretty big fucking coincidence.”

“Yes. So, I am going to give this money to you, and escape through the back door. Thanks.” Eponine hands him an envelope and starts to dart away, Grantaire grabs her arm.

“Eponine!” He whispers. “You want me to give this to _Enjolras?_ ”

“Yup. Good luck.” She says, ducking under his arm to escape.

“Dammit.” He mutters, watching her go. “I hope you are happy!”

“Love you! I owe you big time!” She yells, kicking open the back door and dashing outside. The door creeks as it swings shut behind her.

“Fuck.” Grantaire mutters, looking down at the envelope. He sticks it into his apron, eager to forget it. But just because it is hidden beneath egg stains and coffee spills does not mean it has disappeared. With every movement he feels it nudge against his leg.

He dumps a little bit too much milk into the blender and Jehan comes rushing in.

“Oh my god, it is horrifying out there. Grantaire, can your friend who I definitely just saw sneak in here make coffee at all? We need more workers. I need to hire more people. This was a mistake.”

“Is Courfeyrac out there? We could probably get some unskilled workers to do the blending and Grantaire could help with the coffee?” Musichetta offers. Jehan looks at Grantaire hesitantly. Grantaire carefully does not move a single muscle on his face.

“Is that okay with you?” Jehan asks, worry etched all over his face. Grantaire shrugs.

“Yeah.” His voice definitely does not squeak. His face might be a little bit red, but he struts outside to the counter and takes the order from the next person in line while Jehan searches for the unskilled laborers. He avoids looking at Enjolras, who is still charming his way through the clumps of people, and instead focuses on the large caramel... something or other that he needs to make. Caramel latte? Is that a thing that they even make? Who knows.

He pauses mid-pump while putting the darkest of the dark coffee into someone's drink as he hears someone leap upon the wobbly table of justice. He flips his hair out of the way and accidentally catches a glimpse of Enjolras taking the stage. He sighs and hands the drink to it's proper recipient.

“Are you two together again, or is this how you met?” says a deep voice. Grantaire looks up, and of course, it's Javert.

“We're not together.” Grantaire spits out, accepting the money as gracefully as he can. “I guess you could say we met at one of his society meetings, yeah.”

“What is your opinion of his plans?” Javert says, eyeing him carefully as he accepts the change. Grantaire answers without thinking.

“I think he is an idiot who is going to get a lot of people hurt.”

“I agree.” Javert tilts his head. “You should tell him what you think. I believe it to be in your best interests.”

Grantaire nods silently, eyes narrowed, and takes the next order. He watches Javert walk away and take his regular seat in the corner. Javert's eyes never leave the makeshift stage, watching Enjolras's every movement and word.

“Javert's bothering you?” Jehan says, popping his head out of the kitchen door. Grantaire jumps. “Jesus,” Grantaire says, “He might have made some not-so-veiled threats, yeah.”

“Don't worry about it, he's been pulling the same trick with me and the rest of the ABC society for months. He never actually does anything, however.”

“Well, have you broken any laws yet?” Grantaire mutters. Jehan snorts.

“More than you could imagine, the trick is not to get caught.”

“Right, and Enjolras is okay with that?”

“He says breaking an unjust law is not breaking the law. Then he'll go on some rant about the rights of the people to revolt against an unjust bourgeoisie.”

“Asshole.” Grantaire says. Jehan laughs and pats him on the shoulder.

“He has good intentions.”

“Don't we all.”

 

 

Grantaire stays at the cafe way past the normal closing time, helping to clean up and shove the last bunches of would-be revolutionaries out the door. People often linger, despite the fact that the actual society members have long since moved into the back room. Grantaire knocks on the door, envelope full of cash in hand. There is a hush behind the door as it slowly swings open.

“Uh, hi.” Grantaire says, coming face to face with Courfeyrac, who visibly relaxes when he sees him. “I'm delivering some money I owe?”

“Yeah, of course.” Courfeyrac says smoothly, beckoning him into the room and gently shutting the door behind him. Around the table sits most of the leading members of the society, with Enjolras standing at the head. They have a map of New York City spread across the table, and chess pieces arranged around important landmarks. He only gets a glimpse at it before Courfeyrac is guiding him to the back of the room where a large filing cabinet on wheels has been erected.

“Third cabinet, towards the back.” Enjolras calls out over his shoulder, and immediately goes back to work. Courfeyrac kneels down and finds a folder with only his first name printed on the front in a neat script. Inside is a list of debts, a brief summary of his situation, talents he has, and a photo of him working at the cafe that he had not realized had been taken. Courfeyrac counts the money and then crosses out the appropriate debts.

“Alright, looks like you're all set. Thanks!” Courfeyrac says, standing. Grantaire snaps his eyes away from the table and back onto Courfeyrac.

“No, yeah, thanks.” Grantaire mumbles, awkwardly. “Sorry, it's a bit late. Jehan's still here but if he leaves just remember to lock the doors and all that. See you around.” Courfeyrac nods, still smiling as Grantaire quickly makes an attempt to depart. His hand is already on the doorknob when Enjolras calls out.

“Grantaire.” They both pause, as well as many of those assembled. “Where do your loyalties lie?” Grantaire's eyebrows bunch together.

“Oh, you know, around, someplace.” Grantaire says, turning the handle. “I'm sure they'll find a home eventually, but my loyalties are not as promiscuous as to lie with the law, if that's what you are asking.”

Grantaire finally makes eye contact with Enjolras, his eyes piercing. Grantaire shrugs, trying to alleviate some of the pressure. His eyes pin him to the spot, he cannot find it in himself to close the door and leave.

“Good. Thank you.” Enjolras says, nodding once and then returning to the numerous plans before him. Grantaire gets one last look at the map as he closes the door. His apartment is circled in red sharpie, with the letter “B” and a question mark written next to it.

He tries not to think about what the fuck that means on the way home.

He fails. B? Birdhouse? Bologna? Butts? Borgia? Belize? Bees? Who the fuck knows. But then again, it is an ungodly hour of the early morning. So he puts most of his energy into walking from the subway to his apartment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... so... Guess who saw les mis on brodway last wednesday??????? I DID. It was actually fantastic. most of the cast was understudies but I got some cute pics with the person who played Marius (Arbender Robinson, who now follows me on twitter, and was PHENOMINaL) and Fantine (CAISSIE LEVY INSTANT CRUSH WHAT A BEAUTIFUL HUMAN BEING)   
> In other news I'm going on a three week vacation with my dad's family where wifi is... rare to say the least. BUT! I will have SO MUCH DRIVING TIME that i'll be sure to be WRITING a lot, even if I don't publish it right away. This story isn't quite coming to a close just yet, but I have most of the next couple chapters planned out.   
> Also, I need a new computer. My "A" key is not working well. Soon this will be the story of Enjolrs and Grtire. It's getting bad. Editing was HARD. Hope you enjoyed!! and as always, tell me what you're thinking!! Thank you so much for all your feedback, I hope you all are very happy wherever you are!!


	11. Gang Guppies and Other Sea Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire calls Enjolras after he's had a bit too much to drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long, more coming soon!

Grantaire calls Enjolras only after three shots of something amber-colored. The phone rings for a long time before finally he hears a click and a tired hello on the other end.

“Enjolras, what are you doing?” Grantaire whispers, despite the fact that he is alone in his room. 

“What do you mean?” Enjolras says, he sound wrecked. 

“What's the extent you're willing to go to for your cause? Or, like, have done? gone to? You know?”

“It's late, Grantaire, I just got back from a protest, can we do this some other time?” Grantaire hesitates. 

“I just need to know a few things.”

“You need to? Why? Who is asking?" 

“I am, I want to know exactly what I’m backing, and if I’m backing it.” Grantaire tries to sound as sure as he can, but his hand is not sure at all as he takes another swig from the bottle, finishing it off.

“Ask you questions, I might answer.” Enjolras declares.

“Why was my apartment circled on your map?” Grantaire asks, throat still burning.

“We circle any potential allies in case of emergencies. If you would like to be removed, that can happen.” Enjolras says, slipping back into his business voice, but his words take a bit longer than usual to form.

“What sort of emergency?”

“Whatever the situation dictates.” Grantaire sighs and puts his hands over his eyes.

“Would you, like, kill for your cause?”

“Grantaire, it's late-” He can hear the squeak of springs, and he thinks of retreating, but the words burst forth from his mouth.

“Answer it.”

“...Yes.” Grantaire sucks in a breath, but he is not that surprised.

“Have you?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?”

“Probably not.” Enjolras is silent for a beat.

“I have not killed anyone.” He says, carefully.

“But?”

“But nothing. I, personally, have not killed anyone.” Grantaire sighs and takes a swig from the nearest bottle.

“Kay,” Grantaire says once his throat stops itching. “You know, Ja... Javert has been watching your every move, right? You know that?”

“Yes, but as he is simply head of security, I don't think we have much to worry about.”

“Do your research, he has more connections than you think. His uncle is the mayor, or was, or something. He can kill us all.”

“Why do you know so much about him? Do I have competition in the ex-boyfriend department?” Enjolras says, his words mumbled. The fact that he has absolutely no idea what he is saying does not negate Grantaire's face palm, nor the ugly snort that works its way up out of his tightening throat.

“Back when Montparnasse was still a little gang guppie.... heh... he frequented the stations a lot. Javert found out about it, and that brief vacation to jail was the first step to a long and terrible career for both of them. Montparnasse found out his entire life story in jail, I've heard it all. I may have done some immoral shit when I worked the station, but I wasn't an idiot. Eponine and I were careful. ”

“Right, how is Eponine?” He says, words muffled by something that sound remarkably like a pillow.

“She's good. She's doing well recovering from her... the breakup, at least that's what she tells me over like, four glasses of whiskey, ha, She hasn't seen-”

“What?”

“...What?”

“You broke up?”

“No... she broke up. With Montparnasse. The guy who got blood, and like, shrapnel, shhhhhhraaaapnaaaaal, on your car?” Enjolras snorts.

“You were never together?”

“No. Well, we dated in like, eighth grade, for two days, before we discovered that we were definitely meant to be just friends. We argue who realized that first. It was her, my heart is still broken from my middle school girlfriend.” Grantaire says and takes another swig from something that tastes like straight peppermint schnapps. Why was that so close to his bed? Why do they even have that? He hopes it was bought with 'Parnasse's money. There is a smothered hysterical noise on the end of the line.

“I'm going to go to bed.”

  
“Okay?” Grantaire says. “Wait-”

There is a beep on the other end. Grantaire hold the phone for a couple more seconds, but there is no hint of voice on the other end. He sighs, tossing the phone to the foot of his bed. He is both too drunk and not drunk enough for this shit.


	12. Ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finds some allarming things in the pantry.

He starts to notice slowly. When he is supposed to open up shop, there are two of the ABC society members walking in before him with a giant box in their hands. Their meetings go late, increasingly late. So late that they are all still there every time he opens up, curled up in the back room, most of them asleep in piles. Enjolras is always still standing at the head of the table with bags under his eyes and a cup of something with caffeine in his hand. Grantaire refills their coffee, and only judges them a little bit when they drink the entire mug and still fall asleep half an hour later. They start leaving sleeping bags in the room even when they are not in it. Grantaire tries not to feel so protective, but it is a futile effort.

It is only when Grantaire opens the pantry to find a box full of guns that he starts to seriously freak out.

“Jehan!” Grantaire yells, slamming the box closed. Jehan rushes in, kitchen knife in hand. Grantaire yelps and flails his hands.

“What the FUCK is going on here?!” He yells, motioning to the box. Jehan's shoulders slump.

“Jeez, Grantaire, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Jehan says, closing the pantry door behind him, and holds a finger to his lips. It does not make Grantaire any less tense. “If you keep on screaming in the pantry people will think we have mice.”

“Why the fuck are there guns in the pantry?” He hissed. Jehan shrugged.

“It was the best place to store them?” Jehan puts a hand up to stop Grantaire's next remark, but it's holding the knife still. Grantaire yells a couple of expletives until Jehan slowly puts the knife on the shelf next to him. “Okay, okay. It's down. The truth is, I don't really know. Go talk to Enjolras if you want answers.”

Grantaire stares at Jehan for a moment. “I'm taking my break.” Grantaire says, tugging off his apron and pushing past Jehan to get to the door. Jehan stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Grantaire-” Grantaire shakes his hand off. “Listen to me!” He stops for just long enough for Jehan to grab his hand again.

“What?”

“Take a long break. Okay? Go take a bit of a walk before you talk to Enjolras. He's really trying so hard. You've seen how often he is in here, alright? He's done so much for all of us. Breathe, okay?” Jehan says calmly. Grantaire is trying to breathe. He really is trying. “Do you want me to call Eponine? What do you need?”

“I think I need to sit down.” Grantaire mutters. Jehan nods and opens the door, taking by the hand and leading him into the kitchen. Grantaire follows him to the back door and sits down on the stairs there.

“I have to go back to work, but you stay here as long as you need, okay? I'll check back every now and then. If you need anything, let me know. Want some tea?” Grantaire nods and Jehan pets his hair gently as he heads back into the kitchen. He breathes, and breathes, and messes with his hair, and breathes. Ten minutes later Jean Prouvaire, man of mystery, comes back with a mug full of chamomile and sets it down next to him quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, thanks.” He mutters. Jehan nods.

“It's okay to not feel so great sometimes.” Jehan says, combing his fingers through Grantaire's hair. “Can I try to braid your hair?”

Grantaire snorts but it still comes out bitter. He takes another breath. “It's a little short, don't you think?”

“Not if I do a french braid. I've done Courfeyrac's hair before, and it's much shorter than yours.” Grantaire shrugs and leans back into Jehan's hands. Jehan quickly sits down on the step above him, cradling him between his knees, and gets to work.

He does not pressure him to speak, and he does not speak himself. They sit in silence while Jehan twists his hair every which way. It feels wonderful, Jehan's hands are just the right amount of gentle.

“He's an idiot.” Grantaire says. Jehan hums his agreement. “Jesus fucking Christ, what have I gotten myself into.”

“Nothing, dear. You're not a part of that at all. You're not even really part of the Society's charity anymore, you've paid off most of your debts, haven't you?”

“Yeah,”

“Well then, you're in the clear. If anything legal goes down, you cannot be held responsible. And if anything legal does go down, we have some wonderful lawyers on our side.”

“Would you be taken in? If those lawyers failed.”

“Probably, but Musichetta would not, and she is more than capable of running this cafe. So your job is not in jeopardy in the least bit.”

“I'm not worried about my _job.”_ Grantaire growls. Jehan's fingers pause.

“Oh, sweetheart. Don't worry about us. Everyone involved knows what they're getting into.”

“He asked me where my loyalties lie the other day. I don't know much of anything anymore.” Grantaire says.

“It's okay not to know. Honestly, it took me a while to accept it all when Courfeyrac first told me. But I love him, so it was really an inevitable conclusion.” Jehan sticks something metal into his hair. “Can you hold the end for me? Here.”

Jehan guides his hand to the end of his hair and pinches his fingers around it. He puts a couple more pins in it before lightly tapping Grantaire's hand. “Okay, there you go.” He says, followed immediately by “Don't touch it!”

“Thanks, Jehan. You should probably get back to work.”

“Only if you think you're okay now, I've got Courf waiting some tables and Musichetta is cooking. We should probably think about hiring some more people, or else I might need to start paying Courf.”

“I'm sorry.”

“No no no, I didn't expect you to take this all in that fast. It takes time to adjust to this sort of thing. I don't expect you to be superhuman. I just expect you to make great lunches. Take as long as you need.” Jehan's hand rests on his should for a second as he stands, and then he returns to the kitchen.

Grantaire watches a small gathering of ants crawl across the pavement, and takes a gulp from his tea. He watches people walk by the entrance to the alleyway, but no one ever comes in.

He thinks of Eponine. He thinks of her sleeping in Montparnasse's bed while gunshots ring out around him in an alleyway a bit dirtier than this. Eponine not knowing if the shots were his own or the echoing sound of someone killing him. He thinks of Jehan, thinks of Courfeyrac, thinks of the things Courfeyrac might have done. He thinks love is a terrible thing.

His hands scratch the cement stairs as he stands up. The door squeaks as it swings shut behind him. He walks into the kitchen and nods to Jehan as he puts the unfinished tea on the table. Courfeyrac walks into the door with a lost look on his face and Jehan immediately goes to help him. Grantaire follows them both out. Jehan leads Courfeyrac to behind the counter, and Grantaire continues back towards the door. Shoulders straight, hair braided, he can feel their eyes on his back, but he does not pause. He knock on the door. It opens.

“Grantaire.” Enjolras says, holding the door open for him. He walks inside. “What can I do for you?”

It is still early, so the only other person inside is Combferre. “Can I talk to you alone?” Grantaire says. Enjolras pauses, but then nods.

“I'll be right back.” He says over his shoulder. Combferre barely reacts, just tilts his head into a nod and adjusts his glasses.

Grantaire leads him into the kitchen, and then into the pantry. He shuts the door behind him. He motions to the crate. Enjolras says nothing, just looks at Grantaire expectantly.

“The ABC society sponsored a protest against guns just last month, what the hell are you doing with all of this?” Grantaire says. Enjolras sighs.

“I wouldn't expect you to understand, but-”

“Hold on. Pause. Stop that.” Grantaire says, throwing up a hand. “I don't understand because you have not told me a damn thing.”

“You were not involved.”

“I am involved now. You circled my _home_ on that map you have in there. That is out there for all your society friends to see. You are hiding _guns_ in the restaurant that I _cook for._ A job you got me, nonetheless. I might not get jail time for it, but I am very much involved thank you.” Grantaire says. He's a bit too close to Enjolras, but most of his energy is focused on keeping his voice down, so he does nothing about it.

“What do you want to know?”

“Are you going to go get yourself killed?”

“It's not part of the plan at the moment.” Enjolras says. The corners of his lips twitch up.

“Are you going to engage in combat with the NYPD, with numerous people of color in your ranks, while screaming treasonous things at the top of your lungs?”

“Perhaps.”

“You're going to get yourself killed.” Grantaire almost runs his fingers through his hair, but stops quick enough to just tuck something behind his ear. Enjolras smiles, a little sadly.

“I like your hair, did Jehan do it?”

“Yeah, while I was kind of having a breakdown after seeing some fucking guns in my pantry.” Enjolras's smile disappears.

“I'm sorry, I did not think we would be keeping them in a place where you would find them.” he says solemnly.

“The pantry? You know I cook here, right?”

“I was not in charge of the mission. I'll talk with the supervisors.”

“Yeah. Javert's still giving me looks and Jehan's thinking of hiring someone else and I really don't want you to die, okay?”

Enjolras smiles. “Thank you. The feeling is mutual.”

“Shut up, you asshole.” Grantaire rubs his forehead. “If there is ever an emergency, you may station a few people in my home. But no more than five at a time, and I don't want any crazy weapons there. And I _don't_ want police at my place, Jesus Christ.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras says, leaning a bit forward, just to brush his lips against Grantaire's. Grantaire freezes, his eyes staring at Enjolras's focused expression, his breath stops for the half of a second that Enjolras's lips are on his, and then Enjolras is gone. The door opens and swings shut behind him.

Grantaire stands there for a little bit longer the necessary, his brow furrowed as he stares as the spot where Enjolras's head used to be. He swallows the emotions down and stretches out his neck. When he enters the kitchen, Enjolras is gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who is going to go see les mis again??? me!! Lol this will be my third time, i have no idea how i keep on getting this oportunity??? I'm going this wednesday with my choir.  
> This one's a bit longer, I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing to keep my mind off of college ahahahahha.  
> See you soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and please tell me what you think! I'm really trying to develop my writing and I'd love some constructive criticism! Thanks!


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